To Be Young
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: RAB/BCJR. Before Regulus left to die.


"You're sick," Regulus moaned at his cousin as she cursed him once more, leaving him writhing on the wooden floor.

"No, Regulus Black! You're not going to do this! I'll tell the Dark Lord! I'll curse you beyond repair! Hell, I'll _kill _you!" Bellatrix screamed, insanity washing over her. "_Crucio_!"

"Bella!" Whined Narcissa from the corner. "He's just a teenager!"

Bellatrix spun around to face her sister. "He plans to _resign _from being a Death Eater! Do you hear him, 'Cissy? Plans to _retire_!" She turned back to Regulus again, digging her wand hard in the underside of his neck. "You do not get to leave the Dark Lord! You are faithful to him forever! You knew that when you got your Mark!" She ripped his sleeve up roughly, prodding the grotesque, slithering tattoo on his inner forearm.

"I'm not cut out for this..." he whimpered.

"Damn right you're not!" Bellatrix grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hoisted him up, lunging to the door with him. For a moment, Regulus wondered how much brute strength a woman Bellatrix's size could hold; she was short and he was taller, heavier than her. It _was _only a moments thought, as he was promptly thrown onto the step in the rain, left to stare up at the number twelve on the door of Grimmauld Place. "Go for a walk and think about what you've said!" Bellatrix yelled through the wooden barrier.

Regulus sighed, and began walking. A small girl who was crossing the street with a rainbow striped umbrella stopped and stared at him, and Regulus stared back, before he realised that it must've looked weird; he practically appeared out of nowhere. When leaving Grimmauld Place, it was seen as intelligent to make sure that no one was looking.

No one usually _was _looking. Typically the day Bellatrix decides to throw him out so he was shoved out onto the street would be the day some bored muggle just happened to be looking at the space between number eleven and number thirteen, wondering why on earth there was no number twelve.

"You're sick!" Regulus shouted again through the door that only he would be able to see right now. There was nothing but an empty cackle from within. He guessed he was being hypocritical; he was the one who was sick.

At lot of things about him were sick.

As he carried on walking through unnameable streets of London (Regulus was never one to make a note on things he classed unimportant) he tried to tell himself that he had no idea where he was going. He was just walking into oblivion, clearing his mind. Of course he was kidding himself; his feet knew where he was going better than Regulus himself did.

Barty answered the door after the first knock, almost as if he'd been stood right outside it. Regulus stood, poised, with his hand in front of his face in a fist, still mid-knock.

"I'm not working for Death Eaters anymore," Regulus said simply. Better to get it out quickly than tell a tale about it.

He was greeted with a neat punch in the face, directly between the eyes, and hard enough to crack his skull if Regulus hadn't stepped back a centimetre, not missing the thump, but lowering the emphasis slightly. _Slightly_. Stars still blinked in front of his eyes, as he swung his leg out blindly at his 'friend', hooking it behind his shins and sending him hurling to the dirty carpet.

"Lets take this inside," hissed Barty from the floor.

"Don't be like this Crouch," groaned Regulus, holding his hand out to Barty. The younger grabbed his wrist and pulled himself to a standing postion, afterwards yanking Regulus inside the hallway and slamming the door behind him. "I don't want to fight, I just want to say goodbye, that's all..."

Barty froze. "Goodbye?"

"I think we need a drink."

* * *

"You can't do that," Barty said after Regulus had explained the situation, and after a long, long silence. "The Dark Lord will kill you."

"Have you not listened?" Regulus groaned. "In doing this, _I will die_!"

"No!" Yelled Barty. "You are _not _going to do that!" He crossed the living room from the moth-eaten sofa he was sitting, and threw himself into the armchair that Regulus was hosting. Two men. In an armchair. Regulus rolled his eyes.

"Stop being such a bitch, Barty, and get off me."

"I'm not letting you go and do that!" Barty hissed, glaring at Regulus. "You didn't want to be a Death Eater in the first place. You were nearly sick when you had to murder that Mudblood girl. You can go somewhere far away and come back just when this whole thing is over, you know."

"That's not the point, Crouch..." muttered Regulus. "You don't understand."

"Make me understand," Barty whispered. He seemed close to tears.

"This isn't a _game_, Barty, this whole Death Eater thing. We're playing with our lives. Or, _you're_ playing with our lives. The Mudblood was the first and only person I've killed, every other time you've stood in for me, or taken on jobs that involve killing people. You're better at it."

"You're my only friend." Barty's arms were snaking around Regulus' waist, his face burying into the older boys side. "Having someone to talk to makes it easier."

"You can talk to Dolohov. Or Rosier. Or _Snape_."

Barty snarled angrily into Regulus' jumper.

"Okay, okay. I get your point. But it has to happen."

"I need you!"

"You're fine without me!"

"Liar!" Barty's fingers dug into Regulus' waist.

"Ow! Killing people and causing worldwide terror is not what I signed up for! I only did this to stay with you! Because you quite literally begged me to keep you company!"

"You wanted to keep me company more than I wanted you to sign your life away!" Barty retorted maliciously. Regulus opened his mouth again, before closing it just as quickly. There were no words. Barty was right, of course. They both sat in silence for what seemed like hours, arms around each other tighter than metal clamps, Barty's head buried in the material of Regulus' sweatshirt. One of them had to speak, and they both knew it would be the unmistakable commanding voice. "You're not going." It was similiar to the tone of voice Mrs Black used in her most vicious moments.

It really was hard to understand that Barty was younger than Regulus. He'd almost agreed with him; he wasn't going.

"You can't stop me." It was the first time he'd _ever _said anything like this, against Barty. Even during their years at Hogwarts, Regulus would do what Barty asked (so long as it wasn't a ridiculous request). Regulus expected a thunderstorm, but the vice-like grip around his waist loosened. Barty turned around in the chair, facing away from his friend, the boy, the _man _that was going to go and sign his life away so easily.

"Get out."

"Barty?"

"_Go_."

"Come on, lets just-"

"Just leave!" Barty's voice ripped, and Regulus instinctively pulled him back.

"I'm sorry it has to be like this."

"No you're not," Barty replied, turning and pressing his forehead into Regulus'. "Look at me."

Regulus averted his brown eyes to Barty's blue.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you're going to leave me on my own."

"I have to-" He was cut off as Barty kissed him, hard. After staring into cerulean blue sockets for an age, Regulus hesitantly kissed back, pulling Barty's legs around his waist and placing an arm over his shoulders. It wasn't passionate, it wasn't full of fireworks and blossoming flowers. It was desperate, needy and inconsolable. They didn't _love _one another. They weren't remotely interested in romance or fantasies. There had only been a small few moments when this had happened, when they realised that together, they were bad for each other, but it tasted so tediously good, that they couldn't get enough. It was war, it was conflict, it was battle. They both wanted to win. If Barty won, he'd have Regulus in his bed, on top of him, with him, holding him. If Regulus won, he'd be out of here by sunrise. _They both wanted to win._

Barty's tongue slid across his bottom lip, a shudder coursed through him and Regulus began to feel trapped. Barty had him now, and he knew it, a smirk was growing on his face. "No, Barty," he stuttered, pushing him back. "No."

"_Yes_," but Regulus turned his face away when Barty leaned back in. "Don't do this to me."

"I'm sorry. It's the only way we can begin to overthrow Voldemort."

There were no more kisses. There was no happy endings. As Regulus drew closer to the door, closer to his downfall, Barty drew closer and closer the Dark Lord.


End file.
